


Must Love Space Wolves

by shadow_lover



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Motorcycles, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Multi-Directional Thirst, Mutual Pining, Post-Coital Cuddling, Resolved Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-23 06:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17678339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: Keith is prepared to hate Shiro's new boyfriend. Curtis ruins that plan completely.





	Must Love Space Wolves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miaou Jones (miaoujones)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box, Miaou! I was very excited for the chance to write this ship - hope you enjoy, and that you're having a delightful Valentines Day :)

Keith’s in the former palace—diplomatic center now—when the Atlas requests permission to refuel in Daibazaal’s system. Keith doesn’t get a say in it, because he is emphatically not in charge of Galran diplomacy. He just gets to hang around the edges, staring up at Shiro’s face, high-definition and larger than life on the transmission screen, while Krolia grants permission to refuel.

Fuck, he looks good in that uniform.

Keith doesn’t miss the sly glance Krolia gives him as she adds, “We’re happy to welcome a small delegation to Daibazaal’s surface as well.” An advisor whispers in her ear, and she sighs. “No more than six of your crew.”

Interstellar relations are still fragile. Allura hadn’t even risked visiting the surface last time she was in the solar system.

“Understood, ma’am,” Shiro says, and Keith likes to think the widening smile is for _him_.

Keith’s curled up on his couch with Kosmo’s giant head in his lap when Shiro calls again that night. The image is blurrier on Keith’s small wall-mounted screen, not crystal-sharp like at the communications hub, but it feels so much clearer when he doesn’t have to share.

“Hey, Shiro,” he says, and then, almost immediately, “What’s wrong?”

He can’t suppress the flare of concern, not when Shiro looks so nervous. Cagey. Like there’s something he doesn’t want to say. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Shiro starts, then sighs. “It’s just been a while since we talked, and I wanted to catch up with you.”

“We’re catching up tomorrow.” Something’s still not quite right. He pets Kosmo. “You’re not doing diplomatic shit the whole time, right? I can show you my new place.”

They can ride hoverbikes into the Daibazaal wilderness, break in Keith’s training gym, watch the stars and lean in for warmth. They can open the bottle of wine Keith’s been saving since his last trip to Earth, and maybe this time Keith will finally work up the nerve to say—

“I’d like that,” Shiro says. And then, “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Keith’s stomach drops. He tenses, so bad that Kosmo looks over at him in momentary concern. “What? I mean, uh. Congrats.” He can’t help but asking, even though there’s no answer that will hurt less, “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Curtis. He’s on the—”

“Right.” Keith hadn’t spent his months on the Atlas trying to make friends or anything, too busy trying to save the universe. But he recognizes the name, and the accompanying mental image: tall, dark, handsome. Competent and funny. Tall…

“Keith?”

He shakes himself out of the resentful reverie and forces a grin. “Congrats, man. I’m happy for you.”

Which still must not be the right thing to say, because Shiro frowns, and fuck, now is not the time for leaderly insight. Keith keeps the grin on. “Listen, I’d love to talk, but I gotta go walk Kosmo. He’s sulking.”

Kosmo blinks sleepily up at him. It’s naptime, and if Keith tried to make him go on a walk, he’d probably lose an arm.

“Sure, yeah. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Shiro sounds disappointed.

Fuck. Keith is fucking this up. He grits his teeth and asks himself, _What would Hunk do? ___

__“You should bring Curtis down with the landing party,” he says, because that’s as hospitable as he can get without whipping together a five-course meal. “We can all hang out.”_ _

__It hurts to suggest, but it’s worth it for Shiro’s grin. “I’ll ask him.”_ _

____

***

Shiro turns the comm off and hopes whatever weird twisty thing he’s feeling hadn’t shown in his face. Not like he’s ever really been able to hide anything from Keith, but—fuck, why does this make him so nervous?

His comm buzzes, and the name _Curtis _flashes across his wrist, and the message: _hanging out on deck 4, want to watch the stars with me?___

__It’s sweet. It’s normal. Shiro barely recognizes what normal’s supposed to feel like, but he wants it so damn bad. He sends back, _be there in 10.__ _

__The Deck 4 observation is only five minutes away. He needs the extra five minutes to fix his hair in the mirror—ruffle it just a bit more—no, too much—there—and grab a couple beer bottles._ _

__When he gets there, Curtis is the only one in the room. He sits on the floor, right near the window, leaning back on his arms. The lights are dim, and the expanse of galaxy spreads out magnificently before them._ _

__Shiro folds down next to him. He uses his right hand to pop the caps, then passes Curtis a beer._ _

__“Pretty sure they didn’t design that metal thumb for popping bottles,” Curtis says, grinning._ _

__Shiro clinks his bottle against Curtis’s. “I should ask for a corkscrew attachment. Cheers.”_ _

__The beer’s cold going down, and Curtis’s shoulder is warm against his. The lingering tension eases from Shiro’s shoulders. The endless starlight before them, the warmth in his heart—they saved the universe for this, he thinks. The beauty of everything, from the vastness of the stars to the metallic hum of his ship surrounding him to the small, human moment when Curtis’s hand drops to his thigh._ _

__He’s never felt this calm and relaxed with anyone else, except for—_ _

__“How’s Keith?” Curtis asks. “You were calling him, right?”_ _

__Shiro tries not to tense. Swallows down another sip of beer. _It’s not a trick question,_ he tells himself. “He’s doing good. I think. It’s hard to tell over the comm.” His beer’s half empty. He doesn’t remember drinking it. “He said you should come down to the surface with me tomorrow. Hang out. He was going to show us his new place.”_ _

__“Really?” There’s a weird note of surprise in Curtis’s voice, quickly followed by a chuckle. “Sure, I’m not going to turn down a chance to stretch my legs and walk around in… whatever kind of sunlight they’ve got on Daibazaal. No offense to the old Atlas here.”_ _

__Shiro laughs. “None taken.”_ _

__Curtis swallows the last of his beer and leans closer into Shiro. “Besides. Keith’s your friend. I’d like to get to know him better.”_ _

__The word _friend_ feels wrong, and Shiro’s back in that weird tense space again. He drinks. Finishes the beer, and then Curtis leanes in, hand warm against his neck, and Shiro breathes. He savors the heat and closes his eyes as their lips meet. The bottle clinks to the metal floor, and everything is slow, and warm, and right._ _

__And he’s still thinking about Keith, but somehow that feels okay._ _

____

***

Keith is prepared to hate Curtis. He’s hated Shiro’s boyfriends before; he’s honestly pretty good at it. A constant, simmering ill will, completely disproportionate to whether they deserved it. He’s prepared to shake Curtis’s hand and pretend not to hate him and count his breaths until it’s over with.

So, he works up a good seething as he waits on the landing pad with Krolia and the rest of the small Galra welcome party. When the shuttle door slides up and Keith sees him right there behind Shiro’s right shoulder, there’s that familiar dull ache. He hadn’t really noticed before, but Curtis is hot, which Keith does not appreciate at all. How dare he be six-foot-forever and gorgeous.

Curtis foils that plan completely.

Besides Shiro and Curtis, there’s only three other guests—two communications specialists and a doctor. Krolia and another Blade of Marmora agent swoop in to ferry them towards the diplomatic center, leaving Shiro and Curtis to Keith.

Keith attempts a token smile, but for some reason, Curtis refuses to meet his eyes. He’s focused on a point somewhere past Keith’s shoulder, ignoring Keith completely. Great. Fucking great. Five minutes in, and Keith is already regretting his hospitality.

“This is Curtis,” Shiro says. “Curtis, this is Keith.”

Keith grits his teeth and sticks his hand out.

Shiro elbows Curtis in the side, brow furrowed. Curtis jumps and takes Keith’s hand. “Sorry! Keith, of course, I know who you are.” He grins. His grip is solid, warm, gentle. Weirdly familiar. Like Shiro’s. He breaks into a bashful grin. “Sorry. I was just—”

A warm, familiar pressure as Kosmo rests his chin on Keith’s shoulder, and Keith suddenly realizes what Curtis has been staring at. Of course. Kosmo’s grown at least three feet at the shoulder since they were last on the Atlas. Curtis is probably terrified—

Curtis turns to Keith, eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I pet your dog?”

Keith blinks, taken aback. “Uh. Sure.”

“Awesome!”

He steps around Keith and sticks his hand out carefully for Kosmo to inspect. Kosmo sniffs, pricks his ears, and considers. There’s a moment of judgment every time he meets someone new. Then his tail lifts, and he pushes his head under Curtis’s hand. Curtis laughs and starts scratching behind his ears.

“Sorry,” Shiro says at Keith’s side, quietly enough that Curtis won’t hear. “It’s impossible to talk to him if there’s a dog in the room.”

And yeah. Fuck Curtis. Because Keith is prepared to hate his guts. He’s not prepared for the way Curtis’s face lights up like a supernova when Kosmo wags his tail. He’s _definitely_ not prepared for the way that grin kindles something warm and fluttering behind his ribs.

***

“That’s a good boy,” Curtis says, laughing. Kosmo nudges his palm. It’s a clear signal to move the scritching from behind one ear to the side of Kosmo’s neck, and Curtis is happy to oblige.

He could pet Kosmo all day without complaints—his fur is so thick and soft. Crazy soft. Alien soft. The glowing streaks are slightly rougher, and kind of zing when he touches them, so he tries to avoid those bits.

He’s mildly on the verge of panic, because this isn’t his first visit to his alien planet—it’s his seventh, and it’s still crazy overwhelming. Aliens, space travel, fine, he’s used to that. The Atlas feels like home these days. But different _planets_. The air tastes different, the sky looks different, the rock beneath his feet is different. 

Not to mention how tense Shiro’s been all day. Ever since they decided to refuel at Daibazaal, which is weird. Shiro doesn’t usually get nervous about alien planets, and he should be excited to see his old friend.

They’d talk about that later, though. Or not—sometimes Shiro just gets tense, and then gets through it. They all have moments like that, after the war. Curtis trusts that if Shiro needs to talk, he will.

And hey. It’s hard to freak out when the biggest puppy ever is right here, needing pets that Curtis is more than happy to provide. “Such a good boy,” he coos.

He’s rewarded with even more exuberant tail-wagging.

“Hey,” Shiro says from behind him. Curtis looks around, still petting Kosmo. Keith’s at his shoulder, looking… pretty grouchy, but not outright murderous like he’d looked when they landed. His hair’s gotten longer since Curtis last saw him, and instead of a flight suit, he’s slouching in jeans and some sort of dark purple alien leather jacket. It fits him well. 

Really well.

Kosmo growls, and Curtis resumes petting him. Petting the giant space wolf is probably way safer than checking out the giant space wolf’s owner. Keith is notoriously grumpy, and Shiro’s friend on top of everything. That means he’s off-limits for ogling, no matter how bad-boy pretty he looks with his hair pulled back and those jeans hugging tight around his—

“What’s the plan?” he asks, in an attempt to redirect his brain from very dangerous tracks.

Shiro cocks a thumb over his shoulder, towards where the other crew members disappeared. “They’re getting a tour of the archives and hospital. We can head over to Keith’s place, if Kosmo will let you stop for a minute.”

“I’m sure he will. Won’t you, huh?” He beams at Kosmo, then turns back to Keith. “So, are you living up in the palace?”

“ _Diplomatic center_ , and no, I’m a bit out of town.” Keith’s grin flashes sharp. “You guys ever ridden a Galra hoverbike?”

***

There’s a less pronounceable proper name for them, but Galra hoverbike is a fair enough description. The machines crouch, sleek and dark, on a small private landing pad behind the palace. Diplomatic center, Shiro corrects himself. The bikes are big, built for pure-blood Galrans, and the controls shimmer bright purple.

“Oh man, no way can I drive one of those,” Curtis says immediately. “I can’t even read Galran.”

Keith tosses a round metal object to Shiro. “They seat two. Assuming Shiro can figure it out?”

Shiro knows Galra tech enough to identify the key disc. He grins, warming to that familiar challenge in Keith’s voice. “I think I can manage.”

Keith then turns to Kosmo, who’s been quietly following very close to Curtis. “Kosmo, home.”

Kosmo whines, then vanishes in a flash of light. Curtis’s shoulders slump in visible disappointment.

“He causes problems running through the city sometimes,” Keith explains, then mounts his bike. It looks almost too tall for him, and his jeans stretch tight over his ass as he swings his leg over. Shiro moves over to the second bike to inspect the controls and keep himself from staring. It’s a natural reaction. Just not a comfortable one with his new boyfriend right there.

He’s glad Curtis is going to be sitting behind him. 

“Helmets?” he asks, swinging onto the bike. The seat isn’t particularly comfortable, but that matters a lot less once Curtis gets on and presses flush against his back.

“Red button below the right handle activates the energy cushion,” Keith says. “Don’t take it more than twenty meters up, it’s not a flier. It resonates off the bedrock here, so the higher you go, the worse it rides. And it’s tricky over water, but we won’t be crossing any.”

“Got it.” Shiro grins. “Go ahead, we’ll catch up.”

Keith glances over Shiro’s shoulder, towards Curtis. Then he presses a button and twists a handle, and a purple energy field shimmers around him. His bike rumbles and lights up. His skin looks lavender in the illumination, not quite human. In the next instant, he’s revving away down the runway.

Shiro finds the ignition easily. The bike purrs to life and takes off with a jolt—he laughs, delighted, as Curtis swears and clings tighter. The protective energy field concentrates on their cores, and he can still feel the rush of wind against his hands, his legs. He banks the speed while he gets used to the feel of it, tuning out Curtis’s continued swearing, then shoves it back into gear.

 _Don’t go too high_ still has them hurtling along well overhead of pedestrians, rocketing between slate-gray Galra buildings. Shiro’s not really sure when the diplomatic center ends and the rest of the city begins. Lights flash, symbols he can almost read, and he hopes that if there are any traffic laws, Keith’s following them.

Possibly not. Keith makes a hairpin turn around a skyscraper and barely scrapes over a bridge. Then the buildings and roads give way to deep, dense forest. The treetops part like ocean waves in Keith’s wake.

Curtis whistles low in his ear. “Damn, that kid can fly. Fucking incredible.”

Shiro grins. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

***

Keith touches down in his front yard and powers down his bike to wait for Shiro and Curtis. Well, less a yard and more a bare strip of dark dirt between his house and the dark, rustling forest. Like Altea, restored Daibazaal is a strange planet. Half-tamed and half-remembered. Empty cities, forgotten cities, some as pristine as if they were abandoned yesterday, others crumbling under centuries of ruin.

Keith’s claimed this little patch of ruin for his own. He could have claimed a whole empty city—could have claimed the whole damn planet if he’d agreed to the Kral Zera—but this rundown outpost is more than enough.

Shiro and Curtis touch down, and Keith realizes the hoverbikes were a mistake. Sure, he loves seeing Shiro out in the open, hurtling between dirt and sky, making the most of foreign controls and a brand-new place. It takes him back to way back when, when it was just the two of them under the desert stars.

But now he can’t look at Shiro without seeing Curtis wrapped all around him. Curtis’s arms are tight around Shiro’s stomach. Through the shimmering energy field, it’s clear he’s laughing. And as the purple light winks away, he presses his lips to the back of Shiro’s neck.

Keith turns away so he doesn’t have to see the way Shiro smiles.

Kosmo flashes into the yard, and practically knocks Curtis over in his enthusiastic greeting. Traitor.

“You weren’t kidding,” Shiro says. “You’re way out of town.”

“Yeah. I like the space.” Keith turns towards the door and enters the key code. “And it turns out most Galrans are cat people. Kosmo would cause… problems in most neighborhoods.”

“Cats?” Curtis asks as they follow Keith inside. “Galrans have cats?”

Keith shrugs and flicks on the lights. “They’re called zalba gaiazan. Translates to something like ‘face-eating leopards.’”

“Typical,” Shiro mutters.

The tour is pretty quick. Entry, workshop, alien kitchen he doesn’t know how to operate yet. And then he looks back, and Curtis is holding Shiro’s hand, and he nearly walks into a wall. 

Fuck, this is a mistake. Everything’s a mistake. He can’t stop thinking about what Shiro’s hand would feel like around his. What Curtis’s would feel like. What it would be like to get something _normal_ like that.

What Curtis’s face would feel like against his fist. Except Kosmo would probably be pissed at him.

“And here’s the gym,” Keith says, waving at the wide, open room. There used to be more equipment in it, but it was all really ominous ancient Galra training equipment, and Keith had it carted off for testing and possibly a bomb squad to deal with. “Just finished the flooring, but the trainer dummy’s still busted, and the holofighter’s not programmed yet. Pidge is visiting next month.”

Curtis whistles. “Nice job. You broken it in yet?”

It’s a friendly question, because Curtis is a friendly guy. Fuck, this would be so much easier if he was an asshole. Keith should answer and move on. Offer them a drink. Be a good host. What would Hunk do?

Instead Keith says, “Not yet. You volunteering?”

***

There’s an edge to Keith’s voice Shiro recognizes. A dangerous challenge. But Curtis must not sense it, because he just grins, lets go of Shiro’s hand, and starts unzipping his flight jacket.

“Sure,” Curtis says. “Hand to hand, though—I don’t know how to use that Galra tech.”

Keith nods sharply and drops his jacket on the ground.

Curtis hands his jacket to Shiro. He’s wearing a tank top, and his bare arms gleam, drawing the eye. “Wish me luck?”

Shiro laughs, hoping his nerves don’t show. “I’m staying out of this one.”

Ask him to pick and he can’t. He wants both of them to win.

He wants both of them.

Tension hums through the room, a headiness Shiro doesn’t understand. Like they’re on the edge of a change, a fork in the road. Flip a coin to see which universe they land in.

Keith drops into a crouch, waiting. His t-shirt clings tight to his shoulders, his waist, and he’s got that guarded, dangerous look in his eyes that makes Shiro’s pulse pick up.

“First one to hit the floor,” Keith says.

Curtis answers with a count-off: “Three, two, one.”

***

Curtis expects Keith to rush in. The kid’s glaring like he’s got something to prove, jaw clenched, fists tight—but as soon as Curtis counts down, he relaxes. Steps back, around/ Curtis circles with him, staying low, eyes on Keith’s torso, watching for movement. Keith’s graceful, moving with a caution that Curtis knows is deceptive only because he’s knocked shoulders with Shiro so many times. They fight the same way.

He remembers seeing Keith train at the garrison years ago, a scrappy kid who jumped too soon and too hard, back when nobody was surprised to see him kicked out.

He’s different now. They all are.

When Keith moves, it’s fast; Curtis barely gets an arm up in time, and then they fall into the dance of the fight. Pushing, testing, spinning around and back. Curtis gets a hit in, his palm against Keith’s arm, sliding up under the sleeve against shockingly warm skin, but Keith’s gone again before he can grab on.

Whoever gets a real hit first will win, Curtis knows. He’s pretty sure it won’t be him. He’s used to sparring with smaller partners, and larger partners, but Keith’s apparently used to sparring with superpowered aliens. 

“You’re holding back,” he says, laughing breathlessly. “You don’t need to.”

Keith jerks back, grins, and says, “Sure.”

Suddenly there’s a knee inside his, a hand on his shoulder. The ground surges up to meet his back with a thud he hears before he feels. He lands shoulders first, head up, and then slumps back, pinned.

It should hurt. It will in a minute. But right now, Curtis is unexpectedly distracted by the hands on his wrists, the knee in his stomach. The way Keith’s chest rises and falls with the exertion, the pink in his face, the way his glare melts abruptly into something Curtis can’t read. The way Keith’s hands on his wrists seem to draw out his heartbeat, pulling him closer, closer.

Some instinct causes Curtis to turn his head and see Shiro across the room. Frozen, holding Curtis’s jacket. Wide-eyed, shocked, and hungry.

Nobody moves, but room _shifts_ under Curtis. “Yield,” he manages to breathe.

Keith jumps off him as if burned. He hesitates, then reaches out a hand. When Curtis takes it, that same spark pulls between them, and Curtis can feel Shiro’s gaze palpable as touch where their palms meet.

Huh. That’s interesting. Puzzle pieces click together. Curtis thinks back to the night before on the observation deck, to the way Shiro tensed up when he asked about Keith.

“How was the floor?” Keith asks, and it’s probably supposed to sound cocky, except his voice shakes a little as he lets go. 

“Great,” Curtis says. “You were still holding back.”

Keith shrugs, looks away. “I need to feed Kosmo.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, but Keith’s already out of the room. He sighs and crosses over. “You okay?”

Yeah, that’s going to be sore tomorrow. Curtis shakes out his arms. He can still feel Keith’s hands on his wrists. He looks over at Shiro and grins. “He’s tough, but I’m not made of glass. How about you?” He lowers his voice. Doesn’t drop the grin: “Enjoy the show?”

Shiro flushes. Fuck, he’s adorable.

“Come on, you can’t hide from me.” His grin widens. “You’re into that.”

Shiro’s shoulders slump, and he looks away. “Sorry. Fuck. Can we talk about this back on the Atlas?”

“What?” Ah, shit. Wrong move. Curtis takes a deep breath, then grabs both Shiro’s hands in his. Warm flesh and cold metal, both firm in his grasp. “No. No, I don’t want an apology! What I mean is, I was into it too.”

Shiro freezes, then looks back up. There’s a wary confusion in his eyes. “What are you saying, Curtis?”

Curtis doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s dated multiple people together before, but that was on Earth, where everyone knew where everyone was coming from. Not out in the farthest reaches of the universe, between unfamiliar stars, with two literal universe-saving heroes thrumming with tension, with history, with bad decisions.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, until his thumbs move against Shiro’s wrists, and he feels the shiver through his palms, and Shiro leans into him.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but suddenly, he knows what he wants.

“I’m saying, I don’t want to jump to any conclusions.” He leans down and breathes the next into Shiro’s ear. “Let’s just see where tonight takes us.”

***

Keith leans back against the counter to watch Kosmo devour his dinner. The wolf practically swallows it whole—but the gross slurping does nothing to distract Keith from the unwelcome, too pleasant buzzing under his skin. The memory of Curtis, warm underneath him, flat on the ground and grinning.

If Curtis laughs like that all the time, Keith can see what Shiro sees in him.

He hears Shiro’s laughter suddenly from across the house, and for one strange lurching second, he’s not sure who he’s more jealous of.

He sighs and yanks open the cupboard. Kosmo looks up hopefully, then turns back to his food when he sees Keith’s just grabbing a bottle of wine. Red, not the greatest, but it’s something from Earth, and he wanted to share it with Shiro.

It was a silly daydream, he knows now, but he may as well open it anyway.

He doesn’t have wine glasses, just regular metal cups; he fills one and leaves the other two with the bottle on the counter. They’ll find it. Then he leaves through the kitchen door to look up at the sky.

This view is why he picked this place. The outpost sits on the edge of a cliff, and only a long, thin stretch of grass and rubble separates him from the edge of the world. He can sit and watch Daibazaal spread out beneath him. Dark forest and glittering cityscapes and the blue and purple clouds lit orange by the setting sun.

He sits on the grass, elbows on his knees, and sips the wine. There’s a tennis ball by his feet. Kosmo pads over, nudges his shoulders with his nose, then picks the tennis ball up.

“You want me to throw it?”

But Kosmo vanishes in a crack of light. A moment later, he reappears, his new best friend in tow. It’s way too close a landing—Keith swears, and barely keeps hold of his glass.

“Fuck, sorry,” Curtis says, staggering back, and running into Kosmo. His eyes are wide. “Fuck—I was _not_ expecting that.”

Keith’s lips twitch, almost a grin. “He wants to play. Congrats, you’re up.”

Kosmo wags his tail, still cradling the tennis ball in his massive jaws, looking hopefully down at Curtis. 

Curtis laughs, recovering quickly from the surprise teleportation. “Fine, I can’t resist a face like that.” He holds out his hand, and Kosmo drops the ball into his palm. “Space wolves play fetch?”

He looks over his shoulder at Keith, and there’s something warm and interested in his gaze. Almost casual, not quite. He looks different out here, in the breeze and the sunset, and Keith almost forgets to answer. “This one does,” he manages. “Don’t worry if the ball goes off the cliff. He can still catch it.”

Curtis’s smile widens. He walks away, winds up, and flings the ball. Kosmo vanishes with a _crack_ after it.

Much quieter is the swing of the door behind him, and then heavy, familiar footsteps in the grass. Keith holds very still, unable to breathe, as Shiro sits down to his right.

He’s always been hyperaware of Shiro’s presence. Now the attraction is unbearable. He doesn’t have to look to know how much bigger Shiro is, even sitting down, even after Keith had two years in the Quantum Abyss to catch up. He can smell Shiro’s aftershave. They aren’t touching, but it’s closer than they’ve been in months. They’re inches apart, and it’s all Keith can do not to close the distance.

A cup dangles from Shiro’s hands, but he doesn’t drink from it. “It’s beautiful out here.” His voice warms with a grin, “Do you remember watching the sun set out in the desert?”

Keith remembers long evenings when the sun spilled out forever gold and red, and the wind whipped through his hair, and Shiro slung a warm, heavy arm over his shoulders, and Keith could pretend they two were the only people in the world.

He can’t pretend that anymore, but the sunset is still beautiful, brilliant ribbons unfurling in Daibazaal’s too-blue sky. And all the way across the universe, Shiro’s once again right here at his side.

“Daibazaal’s pretty different from Earth, but the sunsets aren’t bad.” Keith looks away and swigs too much wine. His voice softens, and he can’t help saying, “It’s good to have you here, Shiro. I… I missed you.”

He feels Shiro turning to look at him. Hears the concern in his voice, because he’s always been shit at hiding from Shiro: “Keith, is something wrong?”

He almost says it. They’re sitting on the edge of a cliff and he almost says it, the burning-hot secret he’s held close to his heart for half his life now. 

But Curtis laughs, just a few yards away. He’s flinging the ball off the cliff, and Kosmo vanishes into the sky to catch it before tumbling back half on top of him.

Curtis is a good guy. He could be good for Shiro, who deserves something safe. Something normal. Keith doesn’t want to fuck that up, so he says, “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

“Are you sure?” Shiro asks, and then Curtis calls out, “Shiro! Get on with it!”

Curtis has stopped throwing the ball, to Kosmo’s clear displeasure, and is just standing there looking at them. Keith looks between them, utterly confused.

Shiro covers his face in his hand. “I’m getting there!”

Curtis shakes his head. “Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”

“Get on with what?” Keith can’t help the note of frustration in his voice—and he feels stupid, the way he was so close to confessing—

Shiro’s hand on his derails his train of thought completely. Shiro’s fingers twining through his nearly makes him pass out on the spot. Heart suddenly thudding a mile a minute, he looks up at Shiro and half-says, half-squeaks again, “Get on with what?”

Shiro takes a deep breath. “This.”

Then Keith is certain he passes out. He’s blacked out and dreaming, he has to be, because no way is Shiro actually kissing him. It’s not a new dream, but it’s never been as sweet and real as this. Metal fingers cool against his neck, warming fast with the heat of their touch. Shiro kisses gently, slowly, surely, and he tastes of wine.

Shiro pulls back, and the spell breaks.

Curtis.

Fuck.

Keith scrambles to his feet, heart racing. “What—but—you’re—”

“Shit,” Shiro says, scrambling to his feet too. “I’m sorry, I should have—”

“Oh my god,” Curtis says from behind him, and Keith wants to dive off the cliff in shame, except Curtis doesn’t sound mad or shocked like he should. Just—exasperated?

***

Curtis is starting to realize why the two of them have never hooked up before. This is way more complicated than it needs to be. He hurls the tennis ball off the cliff again to get Kosmo off his neck, then strides over to the other two. “Shiro, remember the plan? I said you should talk to him, _then_ jump him.”

Keith stares between them, eyes wide, lips distractingly red. “Wait, you told him to do that?”

“No,” Curtis says promptly, at the same moment Shiro says, “Yes!” Curtis squeezes his shoulder, trying to rub some of the tension out of him. “Okay, yes. But I really meant for him to use his words instead of just grabbing you. Keith, do you want to go on a date with us?”

And okay, yes, he definitely hasn’t misread the situation. Because the way Keith’s gaze suddenly travels down and up his body is all kinds of flattering.

“You want to go on a date,” Keith says blankly.

“You’re cute, and you’re good at riding Galra motorcycles and sparring and saving the universe, and that’s really hot, and I’d like to get to know you better.” His grin widens. “Besides, Shiro talks about you enough, it kind of feels like we’re already dating?”

Keith’s bright red by the time he finishes talking. He looks down and says, quietly, “Are you guys serious?”

Shiro moves as if to take his hands, then seems to hold himself back. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re serious. It’ll be complicated, but…”

“We’ve always been complicated,” Keith murmurs.

“Keith?” Shiro says. 

Keith is still a moment longer. Then he looks up, meeting both of their gazes, and says, “Let’s go inside and finish up the wine.” He turns around to go in, then looks over his shoulder, past the pair of them. “Uh, Kosmo, stay outside.”

***

They don’t get to the wine. Shiro barely knows what’s happening when Keith shoves him against the kitchen counter, and this kiss has none of the hesitance of their first. Keith has to jump to meet his lips, and on reflex, Shiro grabs him to hold him up. His right hand fits perfectly beneath Keith’s ass, and fuck, they’ll have to explore that later. Right now, he’s too caught up in Keith’s arms around his neck, Keith’s teeth at his lips, the soft sigh as he opens into the kiss.

The door clicks shut. Keith pulls away as Curtis walks over, and Shiro reluctantly loosens his grip. He doesn’t like the loss of warmth, the loss of Keith’s body pressed up against his. 

But he very much likes this: Curtis takes Keith’s hands and runs his thumbs along the inside of his wrist. Keith visibly shudders, and the way his eyes flutter shut at the sensation is one of the hottest things Shiro’s ever seen. 

Curtis leans down, and murmurs, “Can I?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and reaches up, and okay, _that’s_ the hottest thing Shiro’s ever seen.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m the luckiest man in the universe.”

Curtis breaks away from Keith enough to say, “No, I think I am.”

Keith just mutters, “Shut up,” and pulls Curtis back in.

Shiro is happy to drop the argument and enjoy the view.

***

Afterwards, they pile half-dressed, panting, on Keith’s bed. It’s almost too small for them, but it’s still just right; Keith slots in between them perfectly, his head on Curtis’s chest, Shiro’s thigh hooked between his. The tangle of bodies gives off a hazy warmth, and Keith is too content, too exhausted to worry about what comes next.

He used to watch the sunset and pretend he and Shiro were the only people that mattered in the world. He can’t pretend that anymore. He’s seen too much of the universe. He and Shiro both have too many ties, too many friends and loved ones, for Keith to pretend nothing else matters.

That’s okay. That’s good. They’re not alone, but Keith doesn’t need to be alone anymore.

He needs this.

Keith sinks in deeper between them, the last tension melting away from his limbs. A hand—he’s not sure whose—strokes through his hair.


End file.
